Always Us

by C C Monroe

  “HE’S OUT, THE SCOTCH KICKED in fast. I’ve never seen him drink that much before,” I say, entering the living room where Kingston and Lana are sitting on the couch.

  “I don’t think it was the scotch, I think today was one of the biggest shitstorms I’ve ever seen, I can’t imagine what he’s feeling,” Kingston adds, making a valid point.

  “What in the actual fuck happened today? I honestly felt like I was in the twilight zone when she walked up those steps like fucking Queen Elizabeth.” I throw myself on the opposite couch and grab a pillow, placing it on my chest and squeezing it like a stress ball.

  “I know, I’m not sure that woman is mentally stable. How did she even know about Charles’s funeral?” Lana asks, moving to sit on the edge of the couch I’m on.

  “I have no idea, L. No matter how crazy I think she is, I worry Trey will actually let her in, especially if he reads his dad’s letter.”

  “What letter?” Lana asks, her brows furrowing in confusion. I instantly catch my mistake. I found a letter when I was cleaning out Pop’s office and have hid it from everyone, not sure if Trey is ready to read the words his dad left. Kathy showed me other things as well, videos he left for Trey, letters, pictures—a ton of keepsakes.

  “Kathy and I were cleaning out his office the other day and we found this letter addressed to Trey. We thought it was old, so I opened it to see if we needed to toss it or what, and I read it. It was a letter to Trey that was written as if it were meant to be a final letter,” I tell them, and notice their faces glaze over in shock, making me feel even more guilty.

  “Why haven’t you given it to him yet?” Kingston asks what I’ve already asked myself a dozen times this past week.

  “I was going to give it to him, honestly, I was. He’s been so upset and the drinking has him out of it most the time,” I tell them truthfully. Drinking is becoming a common nightly routine like brushing his teeth.

  “And, you guys, the things in that letter—they’re deep. I don’t think he’s ready to hear those yet,” I say, sitting up and putting my knees to my chest, holding myself. Where is the magic eight ball that will help me find out what to do?

  “Why? Do you think that letter will make him forgive his mom?” Lana asks, rubbing my knee in soft strokes.

  “His dad said to forgive his mom when he’s ready, if he’s ever given the chance to.”

  “Oh,” both Lana and Kingston reply in unison.

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he meant to forgive her in the sense of letting her come in like Captain Save-a-hoe and be his mommy again.”

  “Well, sis, I’m going to say this, and this shit may not be what you want to hear but you need to,” Kings says, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, his hands intertwining with each other. “She may have hurt him bad and you won’t find a ‘World’s Best Mom’ mug in her cabinet, but this is his choice and his journey to choose. All you can do is sit back and hold his hand through it all. Our boy is lost right now and you, my love, are the only one who can help him through it all.” He sits back and smirks, looking so proud that he just laid down some real buff tattooed wisdom. He’s right though, I can’t tell him what to do about his mom. I mean who knows, maybe she isn’t planning on sticking around, maybe she just wants to tell him why she did what she did, apologize, and then leave again. I’m not sure that would be any better though. God, this is such a sticky situation.

  “Ugh, why are you always right?” I say, putting my face into the pillow and letting out a growl.

  “Because I’m the big brother, it’s called wiser with age or some shit like that.”

  “I’m going to give it to him now that everything has happened and Pops was laid to rest. It seems like the right time. Besides, he said some amazing things to Trey.”

  “I think that’s wise, don’t hold back. Better now than later. Shit, I’m good with these little one-liners!” Kingston jokes, and we chuckle.

  “You’re so poetic, handsome,” Lana says, and I see him wink at her and she bites her lip. Okay, time for me to go.

  “Get a room, I’m going to bed.” Standing up, I throw the pillow at Kingston.

  “Night, sis. Get some sleep; it’s back to reality tomorrow. Love you!” I don’t even look back; I just wave my hand in the air and sneak into the bedroom quietly.

  I tiptoe across the wood floor and gently close the bathroom door behind me. Flipping on the light, I look at myself in the mirror. Oh, what a day this has been, actually, what a freaking week this has been, I look exhausted, but I know I won’t be able to sleep. Doing the next best thing to sleep, I decide on a bath. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I start the water and run my fingers under the faucet, checking the temperature. When it’s just right, I plug it and stand to undress. Walking back to the sink, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. Holy shit, I swear I’ve been eating, but I’ve lost at least six pounds. I run my hand over my stomach, looking it over with special attention.

  You can’t get pregnant, Shayla, a voice in my head screams into a microphone. I’m broken; my ovaries don’t work. I have cysts and tumors growing and killing my eggs before they can even cycle through.

  I know I’m not ready to have kids and most women in my situation who aren’t ready would feel relieved. But not me—no, it just adds another blow to my already bruised body.

  After scrubbing my body over and over again, cursing at it for hating me, and throwing myself a pity party, I get out and dress with renewed frustration. How do I tell Trey this? I mean really. How do you tell someone something that is sure to destroy them when you’re still dealing with your personal destruction?

  I spend a few hours racking my brain, lying in bed just to wallow more, sleep comes painfully slow, but it comes.

  WAKING UP THE NEXT MORNING, I see Trey isn’t in bed next to me, this has been happening all week, and I usually find him in the living room, with some sort of alcoholic beverage. But today, I find something worse—in my opinion. Making my way into the living room, I see him sitting on the couch and my eyes bulge out of my head when I see the devil’s mistress herself. Gwen. How does she know where I live? How did she know Trey would be here? And why in the hell is she here?

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up to my place and harassing Trey.” I stand my ground, shaking my head in disbelief. How can this woman muster up enough courage to show up? That and how is she not ashamed? She left her family behind. Doesn’t she feel the least bit sad? Her smile isn’t that of a woman who left her family years ago. I pace quickly toward Trey, halting behind the couch where he sits, my arms crossing over my chest. When I get there, he pivots in his seat, turning to face me.

  “No, baby, it’s okay, I let her in. I decided we needed to talk.”

  I’m not hearing him right. Why does it feel like I just walked into an episode of the freaking Brady Bunch? I look at him and my eyebrows lift, flashing red lights and alarm bells going off in my head.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Yeah, last night I had this epiphany that I owed it to my dad to at least hear her out and talk to her.”

  “And what did we decide—she’s still a terrible woman and an unfit mother?” I say, throwing her a smug glance.

  “Shayla! Stop being like that, it’s for the better, her and I are going to start going to counseling together. Shay, she wants to be in my life, in our lives.” He signals his hand between us before reaching his hand out to grab mine. I feel my brain explode, this isn’t right, something tells me not to trust this woman, she’s up to no good and my boyfriend may be blinded by his vulnerability, but my eyesight is pretty fucking clear.

  How long has she been here manipulating him? I mean she must have words like Gandhi to convince him in a short amount of time to forgive eighteens years of emotional damage. I’m onto you. I eye her up and down, knowing she senses what I’m thinking, because she takes a deep swallow before mustering up another fake smile.

  “Can we talk when she
leaves?” I say, unfolding my arms, ignoring his hand. I know it’s bitchy, but I’m pissed. I’m pouting, carelessly. I need to find out what this woman said and how deep she has sunk her claws into Trey.

  “Yeah, go in the bedroom, I’ll be there in a minute,” he states firmly, making me feel like I’m the bad guy. Why is he casting me out? Is he forgetting who that woman is?

  I go to the fridge, grab a water, and leave them to talk. I walk to Lana’s room, I need to run this crap by her and release some pent-up anger, because whatever freak show is happening back in the living room of my apartment is way too much for me to keep bottled up. I approach her room and open the door without knocking by habit. I regret it, losing my water when I spit it out. I see my brother between her legs, going down on her. Oh my heck, that’s so not what I needed to see!

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” They both look over to where I’m standing. I shut the door fast and run to my room, blushing, I can’t believe I just saw that! Yuck!

  Can I just hit redo on this day, or even the dang snooze button?

  MAKING MY WAY TO THE bathroom to get ready, I hear Trey enter the room and call out to me.

  “I’m in here,” I answer blandly. He comes to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. I had a plan, I knew what I was going to say, but looking at him now, I don’t even know where to start.

  “Why were you so upset when you saw my mom?” Mom? When did that apply to anyone but Kathy? This just gets better and better. His question sounds so normal, like his mom is just another person in his life, not the woman who abandoned him. The one who he has blamed, tirelessly, for all of his shortcomings, commitment issues, and the many times he nearly lost me from his jealousy.

  “Really? Trey, why was she in my apartment? Better yet, how the hell did she know where I live?” My vexing questions sound more demanding than curious, which is intentional. I’m not sure how he can even let her in or give a quick hello, let alone an entire therapy session on my couch followed by breaking bread.

  “She wanted to talk about everything that happened and why she left. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.” Is he serious?

  “Not a big deal? Did you fall and hit your head this morning?” That has to be the only logical reason he’s even trying to rationalize this with me. He shifts slightly so his body is taking up the entire entryway of the bathroom, likes he’s trying to prevent me from leaving. Good, because I’m about to shove his big body out of the way and leave. I feel caged in, in this large bathroom.

  I narrow my eyes in his direction and wait for this completely insane theory of lies that she had to have fed him.

  “Babe, she’s really ashamed of everything she did, she wanted me to have a better life and knew she couldn’t provide it to me, so she left.” He pauses and moves a little closer to me, taking tiny measured steps and gauging my reaction. I step back, trying to avoid him touching me, I get easily distracted when his hands are on me. As much as I miss him, I want to hear what could possess him to forgive that woman.

  “Ashamed that she did drugs and drank, or ashamed that she left you and your dad without so much as a second glance?” I cross my arms and limply shrug my shoulders, not wavering.

  “Both. Listen, I know that I have no reason to forgive her, but don’t you think I need to at least try?” He looks at me sincerely. I really don’t know what to say. He’s been lost the past week without his father, maybe me trying to push him away from his mom isn’t the best move to make. On the other hand, I feel like if I let him try this, it’ll be me watching him walk into the lion’s den. Hell, I don’t know!

  “Trey, why after all this time? Doesn’t that worry you?” His blue eyes flick to me and they flash with hurt.

  “She said she saw Dad’s obituary and knew that she’s all I have left. She knew she couldn’t make up for what she did but she wants to try and make this work. So do I. I owe this to my dad, he always asked me to forgive her if I could, and I can. I need to do this to feel closer to my dad, okay?”

  With those words, my defenses begin to crumble. He needs this. I know with every fiber of my being—just like he did with Evan—that Gwen isn’t being totally honest. But how can I sit here with him saying something so deep about his father and tell him no? Besides, the letter his dad left does say to forgive her. Maybe I need to step back and let fate step in—let Pops step in.

  Guilt succumbs me, because I still haven’t given it to him. Judging by his face and the words he’s telling me, I need to let him do this on his own. Like Kings said, this is his choice and all I can do is be here for him when it goes bad. Not that I’m hoping it will, because he’s had enough, but if it does I’ll need to be here to help pick up the pieces again.

  Trey reaches for my hand and I stare at it, taking a moment to think about what this will mean when I accept her being back in his life. I’ll be nice to her; I can’t say she will do the same for me. Forgoing my worry for now, I give in and take his hand. Pulling me tightly against his warm, hard body I melt into him, missing his touch, forgetting everything from seconds earlier. I just need to be wrapped in him; I need to feel like this is the right thing, because everything within me is telling me otherwise.

  “I don’t know what this is going to bring or what’s going to happen, but I need my woman by my side.” I lay my head against his bare chest and nod.

  “I’ll try,” I assure him. That’s all I can promise for now and just like I’m accepting her return, he needs to be content with that answer.

  “Thank you. Now, what are we doing today?” he asks, running his hands over my back and squeezing me into him tighter. I’m more than okay with a subject change. Turning from him, I look at the mirror and our eyes meet, a smile forms on his bearded face. I can’t believe he hasn’t shaved it yet; he usually doesn’t like to have his facial hair longer than stubble. His hair is long on top with a fresh fade on the side. I reach up and back, my hands running through his hair, causing a growl to come from low in his chest. His eyes heat and I expect to see lust, but glazed over eyes, filled with love is all I see staring back at me. I turn back to him and stand on my tiptoes, it’s still hard to reach him since he’s much taller than me, so I kiss his neck, then his chin, anywhere my mouth can reach from my current position.

  “Can I make love to you?” His Adam’s apple bobs against my lips when they skim over his neck.

  “Please,” my breathy response escapes on a moan.

  Picking me up with almost little to no effort, he sets me on the bathroom counter, spreading my legs farther apart so he can fit his hips between them. He places his hands in my hair, tugging it back with a slight pull. It feels wickedly erotic when he takes control over my desperate, deprived body.

  “I’ve missed you, so fucking much, baby.” He tilts my head to the side and drags his teeth along the thin column of my neck, like he always does when we’re about to make slow, steady, earth-shifting love. I know just by looking at him, he’s still suffering inside, but I also see hope, like he’s trying his very best to get out of bed and live his life after Pops. I don’t expect him to change overnight, however, I love that he’s going to try.

  “I missed you too, Trey. I’ve wanted your touch for so long,” I say, running my nails down his chest. He moans when they graze over his lower stomach, over his sexy veins lining his V.

  “You’re my little woman, you know that?” I bite my lip when he stands back and slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt that I’m wearing. He removes each button with such ease, without taking his eyes off each piece of my skin that he slowly exposes.

  “Yeah, how so?” I tempt him with a slow purr and rub my calves slowly over his thick thighs.

  “You took care of me this past week, doing everything I was too weak to do. You were there for me, you’ve been my rock.” This confession causes a pull to weigh heavy on my stomach and my core to clench in desire.

  “You needed me, and I wanted to be there for you,” I state firmly
, making sure I have his eyes on me. When he’s sure of what I said, he opens my top, exposing my bare body. He groans and his thumbs lightly graze over my nipples, making them pucker.

  “I love your tits, baby,” he tells me, palming each one. They feel heavy from my arousal, begging for his mouth. Moving his gaze back to mine, I see the thunder in his eyes; the sly smirk he’s wearing tells me he knows what I want. Latching onto one nipple, he pinches my other one with his free hand. He squeezes and wets them with the sweep of his tongue, making me almost come on the spot. My desire is strong due to the lack of intimacy with him, that my need to be taken and mate with my man is consuming me. It’s all I can think about. Making love feels like home, in the moment it feels like healing—Lord knows we need the healing.

  “I want to make you feel good, baby, I want to make sure you feel appreciated for all the shit you’ve put up with and how great you’ve been to me.” My eyes roll to the back of my head when he curls his finger and runs his knuckles between my folds and against my clit.

  “Put me on our bed and show me,” I state, running my finger between the elastic of his waistband and his happy trail. I stand from the sink, the tips of his fingers start at the shirt collar and slowly slide across my skin and under the white material until the shirt glides off my shoulders and onto the ground at my feet.

  “Turn around first.”

  I look at him, perplexed.

  “Trust me and turn around.” He places my chin between his thumb and pointer finger and whispers a kiss on my lips, putting me at ease.

  “Okay.” I turn around and wait for his next order. Except nothing comes, just his body taking over mine. Skating his hands from my shoulders down and past my elbows he joins our hands, fingers between each other, and guides them to the counter. Once he has them there he kisses each of my shoulder blades before releasing his hands from mine. The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge when his soft touch moves my hair to my shoulder, giving his lips access to the center of the back of my neck. We are connected, finally. I feel him in every pore of my body, seeping its way back in me, to make us whole again.